Working in one of those smoky dives, which makes the place seem so small, Addison wondered how she was going to tell Harold she needed to hold off on their plans to get hitched.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love him; she happened to have loved him very much.  However, working in a Speakeasy in the 1930’s was a dangerous thing to do.  If the coppers ever busted that place, Addy, and those around her—including Harold—would be held accountable.

Addison decided it would be best to find a better solution of work before taking the plunge.  Harold had told her not to worry about money.  He said, “Money is no object.”

She knew that.  However, being the modern woman she was, she didn’t want people to think of her as a gold digger.

“They wouldn’t think of you that way, my love,” Harold had promised her.  “We’ll get married, and live far away from here.  I am the king, and you’ll be my queen.  We’ll be together forever.”

His words reminded her of the one time the fortune teller showed up and gave Addy a reading.  The teller once told her the same thing similar to Harold’s words.  She told Addison she would live like a queen forever.  She sighed at the thought because she knew the truth.  Harold made a decent living, not enough to live like royalty, but it didn’t matter to Addison if he was rich or poor.  She loved him, and she swore she would love him forever.

She gave herself a mental shake and replied, “I know, darling.  It’ll seem that way.”  She remembered how he smiled at her last words.  It was almost as if he was keeping a joke hidden from her.

“Sweetheart!”  A customer called out, breaking Addison away from her reverie.  “Another Manhattan, please.”

She nodded, and headed over to the bar.

“Hey Johnny,” she greeted the bartender.  “Another Manhattan for the gentleman over there.”

“Sure thing, dolls,” He said.  He started to put ice in the glass when he noticed what he was missing.  “Hey, would you mind being a doll, and see if we have anymore vermouth back there.  It seems I’m all out.”

“Yeah, sure.  No problem, Johnny.”  She headed to the back to go look.

When she opened up the door to the back room where all the extra liquor was, she noticed something was different.  The room looked a tad different, and there was no liquor there.

She decided to close the door to ask her boss where the extra liquor was, but as she shut the door, she found she was no longer in the Speakeasy.

“This can’t be right,” she said to herself.  There had to have been something wrong.  What was she forgetting?

She started to wander down the corridor from where she shut the door, and noticed this wasn’t any ordinary hallway.  The walls had an old and charming, yet, Gothic look to them.  And she noticed pictures on the walls.  These pictures led all the way up a set of stairs.

She lifted up her nightgown to walk up the stairs, when it dawned on her.  How did she get into a nightgown?  Why didn’t she remember leaving the bar?  All these questions circled her mind as she stopped dead in her tracks on the stairs to stare at this one particular picture on the wall.

“Harold?”  She questioned.  Surely she must be dreaming.  How else would she explain having no memory of how she got into this place?  What is this place?  She thought.  A castle, maybe.  No!  It can’t be.

She hit her head!  Yes! That’s what it was.  Addison was sure she hit her head and passed out, and someone would wake her up soon enough.  But the problem was she wasn’t waking up.  And just then, a pair of eyes fixated on her.  She looked into those eyes, and ran into his arms.

“Harold,” she exclaimed.  “I don’t understand what is going on.”

“Shh, my love,” he held her tight.  “You’re still new, but soon enough you will remember everything.”

She shook her head as she wept.  “No, something isn’t right.  I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”  She broke free and looked up at him.  “You’re going to disappear from me, aren’t you?”

“I can assure you, darling, you are not dreaming, and I will never leave you,” he consoled her.  “You’re just missing bits and pieces.  It’ll come to you in time.”

“I don’t understand,” she spoke softly.  She looked around some more and asked, “Where are we?”

“Didn’t I promise you we would live like a king and queen?”  He took a step back and held his hand out to her.  “No one will harm you here.  It isn’t the Bran Castle, but I think you’ll find this place more homely.  Come.  Take my hand.  Let’s go back to bed.”

With a teary eye, she took his hand.  Harold was the only one in the world she ever felt safe around.  Why would he ever steer her wrong?

As he led her back down the corridor, flashes of memory appeared before her.

When she opened the door to the back room at the bar, Harold was there.  Her memory was still a bit fuzzy, but she did remember leaving with him, and getting married after all.  She also remembered something else.

They headed back to the castle, and into the bedroom where they had a night of passion, and they were feeding each other.  And then.

No, she thought.  It can’t be.  But as much as she tried to deny it, it still entered her mind.

She remembered what Harold asked her.  “Do you trust me?”

“Forever,” Addison replied.

He smiled that smile that told it was another inside joke, but still, he smiled at her.  “I’ll see you again in a few hours.”  And with those words, he plunged his sword deep into her chest.

Addison gasped at the blurred memory.

Harold noticed this, and quickly laid her down on the bed.  “What’s wrong?”

“You stabbed me,” she grabbed her chest where she had been stabbed, but noticed there was no wound there.  Even her nightgown was clean.  “Well, I thought you did.”

“Oh, but I did, my love,” he admitted shamefully.

“But why?”

“It is the only way to spend forever with me.”


©Diana Jillian 10/27/14


New Beginnings

Starting over is always hard.  Where do you begin?  How do you end something that you love, but you get no recognition for your efforts???

In my few decades of being here on earth, I’ve had to learn to let go and adjust to new situations.  I left, even if that meant leaving something I loved.

Eventually, you feel no joy in it.  Or better yet, there are others that will sour your moment.

My favorite job, believe it or not, was working at a video store.  I never thought I would love it because I was never much of a movie goer.  I’m more of a musical kind of gal….I always have been.  But because I have one of those what you call eidetic memories, my job was a piece of cake.

People could literally walk in and ask, “Do you have this movie…I don’t know the name of it, but it’s about this boy and this girl…”  And I would interrupt them by saying, “Yup, right over here.”  I would show them the exact movie and they’d be like, “But how did you know?  I didn’t even give you a full description of the movie yet.”  I’d just shrug….It’s not like I’ve watched the movie, but I have read the synopsis, and that always gave me insight into the predictability of the movie.

This job was easy and convenient.  It always worked around my schedule like taking my son to school and doctors and such.

Slowly but surely…About eight years into the job, I started hating it.  Five years had passed, and the only reason I was even permitted a raise was because minimum wage had went up.

Meanwhile, a co-worker that kept quitting and coming back, was getting paid more than me.  This person was lazy and only knew in-depth knowledge of video games.  They were too…What’s the word I’m looking for…Show off-y when it came to movies.

“Well, the director didn’t do his BEST work here and…”

Oh, Puhleese!!!  Let me break out the violin…

I only found out this person was making more because their pay stub fell out of their pocket.  I was insulted because this person was lazy, hardly worked, and YOUNGER than me.  WTF????  Really?

So a year later, I decided it was best for me to focus on my studies and focus on homeschooling my son.  Then Andy (my other half) got sick.

My point is, you have to weigh the good and the bad.  If the bad is starting to outweigh the good, it’s time to move on.

I thought joining a blogging group would be useful for me.  For one thing, it helps me to be a little bit more creative for when my muse decides to leave me every now and then.

But last week, I realized that no one is actually paying attention to what I’m writing.

I wrote a piece from a story I’m working on.  I left that note in the beginning telling them this.  Then again, I tell others my name is Diana, and no one spells it right…So I don’t know why I should be so insulted.

But some days…I get annoyed, and then I re-evaluate my priorities in life.

Today, I was supposed to blog about my hair, but I felt I needed to get this out there.

The positive side to blogging in the group is:

1.) I have about five real followers that pay attention to what I write.

2.) It helps me to be more creative with my writes.

3.) I get more socially active with others…But even when I comment on their posts…Like leaving a story behind, I get a reply of, “Thanks, Diana!”  So now, I just leave a, “Nice write,” and I like the post.  What do you want me to say???

4.) I thought I had one, but nope, I lost my train of thought…

The negative side to blogging in the group is:

1.) They pick out one word or sentence I’ve written that did not pertain to my write, and they feel the need to comment on it.  And the thing is, I don’t see why my posts would go ignored.  In groups like that, I have a rule for myself:  No more than 500 words, so that way they can focus on other posts as well because there are quite a few bloggers in that group.  So I do try to keep it to a minimum.

I try to keep it to a minimum here too, but some days…AH!  I feel like my head is going to EXPLODE if I don’t let it all out…

2.)  Actually, the first one was about reasons 2, 3, and 4, all rolled into one…Moving on…

5.)  The tags!!!!  Ay!  Dios Mio!!!  I cannot believe how many people tag me in their blogs.  I remember the old days of Myspace where people would comment on my blogs and go, “Hey, can you check out my blog, *insert link here*.  Thanks.”  And I’d be like, “*pfft* NO!  You didn’t even leave me a comment on my blog, but you expect me to reciprocate?  Um, HELL NO!!!”

I don’t tag anyone but the admin of the group because that’s what the admin prefers, and I respect other’s wishes.  If I were to tag these people the way they tag me, I’d probably have no friends….In fact….No, let me save that for another day.

Well, as you can see, I have three for positive, and five for negative.

It’s time for me to shoo bee do bee do on out of there….and move on.

That’s cool, because now I can do things like set my standards higher like write my story….Try to work on at least 200 or more words per day, and write a daily blog, perhaps???

I’m getting ahead of myself.  We shall see.


Facebook is Crack

You had to have known that this topic was going to come up one way or another, right?  Or do you STILL not know me yet???  LOL

You can find this cover art anywhere…You can even create it yourself.

Anyway…This is the sh*t that comes creeping through my head at night, just before I go to sleep.  And this is the same sh*t that will remain with me for days until I actually write it down.  It’s almost like I can’t forget about it and move on until I write this the f*ck down!!!  Yeah, that’s my weird mind, working for your eyes only.  You’re welcome.

Though I’m not sure if this occurs to many of you, but to someone like me with borderline OCD and all, yeah…FB stays with me.


I have no idea.

I’ve made great friends over the years.  No one locally.  Unfortunately those I have met locally, I’ve worked with.  That should have tipped me off to begin with.

I am NO LONGER friends with anyone I’ve once worked with.  That all just seems like a past life to me already.  This is a new life, yet here I am, still on Facebook.


It’s not like my advertisements to read my blog are working.  It’s not like people are joining the groups I created because they asked me to…

So, why???

Because it’s freaking CRACK!!!

That’s why.

There’s nothing new on there.

Everyone shares their religious and political views.  The depressing news has made its way on there.

OH, but there’s still the GAMES….that I’ve stopped playing.

I can only chalk it up to an OCD thing.  That’s my only answer….

It’s not like the notifications are for me….Nope!!!  They’re for a post that someone liked in the notes section of someone that tagged me.

It’s definitely not for the notes section where you can’t post a damn pic up from your phone/tablet.

It’s just one of those freakish things…

You go on to check….It’s like breathing.

Anyone can send you an email in this day and age to see how you are.

We don’t.

I get it…Some of us are shy…

But some of you…I actually know you…Well because you’re either a childhood friend or you’re family.  But that’s besides the point.

FACEBOOK is flat out CRACK!!!  End of story…


You should have seen my journal last night.  It was pretty thought provoking considering I was dead tired…much like I am now.

I was just basically pointing out how it’s funny how when you give some not one, not two, but ten chances, they still choose to ignore you.  And so there’s only so much of being polite before you can show your annoyance and explode.

Here’s the catch:

I find it absolutely AMAZING how they will get mad at you for getting mad at them.  And then for a while there, you start thinking maybe it’s me.

But here’s the thing…I’m tired of others trying to make me feel guilty for getting mad.  Why should I feel bad?  They had ten chances to get it together before they know my breaking point.  Most people’s breaking point is after the third attempt of asking nicely.  Mine takes much, much longer.  Longer than most deserve.

Well, this blog was going to be a real pissy one, but I decided to change my mind.

Either that, or I’m more engrossed in my Tampa Bay Lightning game…And the fact that I’m tired and my brain is fried.  I’m more forgiving when I’m in this mood.



Hey Everyone!!!

Or I should write no one…LOL.  No one reads these anyway…

This blog is about a grandma of mine I do not know.  Her name was Clara.

Let me give a little background info on how I even know my bio dad’s side of the family at all.

You see, it all started the summer before turning four years old.  My great-grandma Toby (Tosha was her real name. She was a Jew from Poland) passed away from cancer.  When she died, my grandma Eileen’s  (Tosha’s daughter) meddling sisters, wanted to sell my great-grandma’s house and the business she ran (Called Toby Lee, a clothing store for women in Brooklyn), and of course the condo she owned in Puerto Rico.

My grandma Eileen insisted on buying it outright but her sisters were adamant on it and was like NO.  We will sell everything and split the profit into three.  Whatever.  The other two sisters already had all the money in the world.  WTF would they have wanted more money other than to see my grandma not succeed in life?  That’s the way I look at things.

So my grandma, the pushover that she is, accepted their terms.  She took what little money she had left to find a place to live.  The cheapest she could find was a fixer upper house out in Long Island (I bet that was suggested by my aunt as she was in real estate at that time.).

In any case, I lived happily ever after there in a little town called Hewlett on Long Island.  But that was a past life.  My life turned to shit pretty much the summer before my ninth birthday.

Anyway, my real dad started looking for me when I was 13, though I have to laugh at that because he always knew where I was.  When I was 16, I saw him for the first time since I was two years old.

I saw him once more when I was 19, and actually got to meet his family.  I met his sister and his brothers….I even got to meet his parents.

They were speaking to me in Hungarian as if I was supposed to understand the language.  And according to my aunt, it was my grandma’s fault for keeping me in hiding.


But alright, let’s roll with that excuse and believe their lies.

So that’s how I know about that family.  I have an aunt that I keep in touch with…er, well, somewhat, on FB.  It’s more like I have to email her to find out what’s new and even then no one knows anything.

Anyway, I guess my grandma was really sick and had been for sometime now.  She battled breast cancer and strokes?  I’m not sure about that last part.

Well on Wednesday October 1st, I got an email from my aunt stating that her mother had passed away on Monday.  I went looking at her profile and wouldn’t you know?  Others knew about this before me.

Whatever….Doesn’t bother me.

Or does it?

Because if it didn’t bother me I wouldn’t be writing it….Right?

It doesn’t.  I really didn’t know her and it’s not like either one of us made an effort to go out and see each other.  Though I have to admit the times I was in NY I was without a vehicle but I offered several times to take a train out to see them.  I never heard back from them ever.  It was always some lame excuse as to why they couldn’t see me.


Because of them, I have learned to be truthful even if it hurts.  I’d rather someone be honest to me than to lie to me and I find out the truth later on anyhow.

What did I inherit from my grandma other than big boobs and psoriasis?

I knew nothing about her and will probably never know because they were all liars…

Although I was told that her name was Clara, spelled with a K.  I don’t even know if Stern was their real last name.  I mean a German name in Hungary?

Well, that’s all I have to say about that.

I really don’t have much else to say about Clara and my bio dad’s family.

Other than that I wish them well, and I have no ill feelings towards them.  They are who they are.  I either have to accept that, or walk away forever.

RIP Clara who I never knew…


Friendship: Part II

Yeah, it really seems I have a serious issue with this topic.

Why the fuck do I meet crazy-ass people????

I don’t freaking get it.  Sorry for my cursing.  My inner New Yorker gets the best of me sometimes when I’m angry.  You should hear my accent when I’m pissed off.

I figure to write in here because apparently from the last post I wrote…No one is reading this shit anyway.

I wrote a poem as my last entry and someone left me a comment saying that it was a nice article???  WTF???  Really???  I think I’m dealing with bots on here or something.

So, I pretty much have no local friends.  I’ve ended my friendships with them all….

Either they’re too flaky and…Nope!  That’s pretty much it.

And my problem is I’ve either kept in touch with them because of some things that I’ve lent to them over the years.  I think I was just hanging on to the hope that I might get them back.

Or so I tell myself…
This is the fault of no one else but me.  I can’t believe how f-ing foolish and naive I can be when it comes to people.

You think you’re forming new friends, or trying to keep old ones, and they’re suddenly more “busy” than you.  Maybe I manage my time better than others and if that’s the case, well then I definitely deserve better friends.

I don’t hear from a specific person until I send them something via either text or email…Something like that.  Something that I see will remind me of them, and I’ll send them what I see because I’m showing them I’m thinking of them.  But it appears that I’ve been forgotten.

I am totally forgotten about until I send them a message and it’s really not fair.  That’s now how friendship is supposed to be.

So I found a pic online that reminded me of a friend and sent it to them.  They in return asked me if I wanted to hang out yesterday.  This plan was made on a Tuesday.

Like always, I always double-check to see if they’re home.  I don’t want to be one of those people that just show up and let’s say they’re either sick or they’re not home.

Well, when I was double-checking…Two hours later, that person texted me back and was like I’m in a meeting.  I was like let’s just rain-check it….And I never heard back from them.

Today, I was like let me just end this non-existent friendship anyway.  I mean, I last saw this person 2 years ago and it wasn’t like they were so concerned for me when I announced to the world that I was diagnosed with skin cancer.

Well, this was my last text to this person:

And I figured that with the way they reply two days later, I would have time to delete their number from my contacts, and block the number totally once I got home.  But I was too late.  That person sent me three texts….Which I didn’t even read.  I was just finally fed up.

I’ve known this person for seven years already.  That just shows you how long I can put up with someone before I finally become fed up.  Sad, huh?

I am forever meant to be alone in this world.  That’s for sure….Even this blog will go unheard and ignored…Well, except for the bots that post their comments….


The One You Don’t Know

…And as the morning madness lies awake
A subtle gesture soon under attack
As though I am drowning in the lake
Drive through my heart the stake
For my heart’s already cold and black
Far down to Miami from New York City
More like Sarasota but same difference
Even so, I still find it kind of shifty
More like it’s a tragic kind of a pity
You don’t see me hidden behind the fence
Time comes and goes; crashes into the shore
And yet, you never once ask me about my day
Instead my heart stops, crumbles to the floor
And you never ask me if there is anything more
Than a day shattered, and thrown far away
…And instead of awakening into the light
It’s a shame we no longer stop to say, “Hello.”
We stumble and fall; losing our step in flight
In the corner of your eye, never noticed in slight
The girl behind the fence that you didn’t know


Written 10/5/14 by ©Diana Jillian